


Brugmansia

by Sybariticfanfiction (SybariticReyna)



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, F/F, Maria is mostly just a Disaster, Maria kills the Hunter a few times but u know, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death, The Hunter is a Lesbian Disaster, The Hunter is very forgiving, The Old Hunter's DLC, comfort sort of, hmmm, listen its bloodborne of course theres violence, slow burn?, temporary major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SybariticReyna/pseuds/Sybariticfanfiction
Summary: The Hunter refuses to kill Lady Maria





	1. Chapter 1

The Hunter imagines that at one point there was training for this sort of thing. That new hunters had mentors and practice before being thrown into the thick of it. That maybe they had more of a choice, and knew what they were signing beforehand. 

She imagines that if she knew, she would’ve opted to die in that sickroom. Just once, instead of the innumerable times she’s faced now. 

Her contract wasn’t in good faith anyway, considering she was delirious with pain and the sickly smell of the clinic. But, that hardly matters anymore. Not much at all matters at this point. The whole country’s fallen to the call of the blood. 

More even than the country, if you count the nightmare. 

She presses forward nonetheless. There’s no real reason to, but her insatiable need for information got her into this nightmare business and she’ll be damned if a few deaths prevent her from getting to the bottom of it. Is this what she has to look forward to? Being trapped in some alter realm created for (by?) blooddrunk hunters and their memories? 

She can’t imagine she has much to add to the collective. So far everything here seems newer and more livelier than her Yharnam. More people, more beasts, more blood.

Her lip curls back as she takes in the river of blood, the cainhurst beasts not yet taking notice of her.

“Gross.” She can’t come up with a better description. They’re just… gross. She rolls her eyes before shooting one, hoping to separate it from the pack. So far the nightmare has been ripe with fallen Hunter’s items and bloodstone, so exploring even the places she’d rather die than step into has been profitable. 

She lures the beasts up the gravel incline one by one, knowing that fighting them with blood under her boots would be even more frustrating. This way is slower, but safe (and lowers the chances of her becoming soaked in blood due to a fall). 

It’s messy business, but worse is that she likes it. There is a sick, somewhat large chunk of her that enjoys being covered in the blood of beasts she’s slain. Reveling in the slaughter. The other, non natural born hunter part of her is disgusted, both by the blood itself and her own reaction. It creates an uncomfortable inner dialog most of the time. 

When the two sides work in tandem is truly when beasts and blooddrunks have to look out. 

She follows the path backwards first, the scent of blood overpoweringly strong. It’s even worse in the caves, with no fresh air to speak of as she carefully makes her way to through a few aggressive Old Yharnam beasts. She spares them when she can, the clawmark rune glowing in her mind. She couldn’t save him, the one person who wanted nothing but small talk in the early hours of her hunt. 

Her chest hurts when she thinks about him too much. There’s nothing she could’ve done, she knows that, but he was her friend. 

She bites down on her lip, hard enough that she can feel the teeth indents after she lets go. No time for that. For now, there is a blood-starved beast to put down, and a new weapon to be collected afterward. 

The way back is blessedly still clear when she’s out of the tunnels again, and she takes a deep breath of semi-fresh air. The Nightmare is not real, not truly, but she does find it strange to get a strong smell of seawater before the normal dust and blood Yharnam scent returns (and none of the Moon. Wherever… whenever? this Nightmare takes place, She has no influence). 

The Hunter pushes forward, almost too absorbed in doing her job to notice the shortcut back to the cathedral lantern. Almost. 

Another hunter greets her on the way, and seems to care very little that she only says one or two words. It’s not that she can’t talk, just that she prefers not to. It makes her uncomfortable to talk on end, although she can’t recall why or if there’s a reason at all. 

Simon informs her that “Maria” holds the key, although who this woman is and what key she holds seems to be up in the air. The Hunter nods nonetheless, and Simon seems happy enough with that. “Keep your wits about you. The Nightmare isn’t a normal hunt,” he says, not quite a friendly warning but not quite a threat either. 

Her fingers itch for the sawcleaver, but Simon makes no move towards her. Of course not. 

She huffs, equally annoyed by his theatrics and her own reaction. “To you as well.” She finally says, moving past him. 

He’s moved on by the time she returns from the Dream, although she only chatted with Doll and swapped out a few of her runes. 

It’s better that way anyhow, she figures. No need for small talk (or worse, older hunters trying to tell her how to do her damn job). She kills the cainhurst beasts that’ve repopulated, as well as the hunters blocking the bridge. Their weapons are… strange. Familiar, but clunkier than hers. Earlier, more brutal variations, she guesses. She’d certainly like to try them out. Perhaps the messengers will help her. They’re always happy to restock when a new badge is added, although they don’t seem to need the physical badge. It’s odd how they know.

She continues on her way with a shrug, collecting the various pieces of armor and weapons alike as she does so. It’s slow going, especially with fellow hunters and their hounds to deal with. The worst by far are the church giants or… whatever those creatures are. Clearly they have some affiliation with the Church, bearing their robes and using their firearms, but they’re nothing like the giants of her time. 

Odd. 

The next lantern is hidden in a stone building, past the lake of blood and two of those creatures, and past them is… 

Ludwig. 

Valtr, summoned through one of the messenger’s bells, doesn’t hesitate, but she does. There’s something wrong about him. Something beyond the typical beastly “wrongness”. Still, three tries and too many blood vials later, he is not-quite vanquished. 

Of course beasts in the Nightmare cannot be killed so easily. Of Fucking Course. 

The Hunter cannot recall a time feeling this uncomfortable. 

His head is still very much alive and talking, asking questions about the Church that she has no answers for. “Are they the honorable spartans I’d hoped they’d be?” 

She thinks of Alfred, of his supposed martyr of a mentor and the blood, splattered across the throne room, bits of bone and flesh left in Annalise’s place (Annalise who welcomed her, who was so alone she offered her royal blood to a stranger, simply to forge some kind of connection).

She thinks of Adella, jealousy burning in her eyes while the Hunter converses with Arianna (Arianna who offered to show her better ways to tuck her hair into her hat and teased her for coming “home” covered in blood).

Are they honorable? 

“... No,” she says, as gentle as she can manage. Her hands are trembling, made obvious by the sawcleaver’s rattling. Damn thing. She prefers the kirkhammer anyway, but two handed weapons don’t lend themselves to getting viscerals against her fellow Hunters. 

Ludwig screams, anguished by this information. The sound makes her ears ring, but she stays until he’s finished. She will allow him this. Let him lament what he had a hand in causing. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. She is, but she’s also infuriated. If they, the old hunters, if they let the Great Ones be, she wouldn’t be… She would be dead by now, hands still unstained and afterlife uncursed. 

She leaves him to his weeping, and returns when one of the blood saints kills her. Granted, not before she got one of them as well, but still. She scolds herself for mistepping. Her shoulder aches even as she reawakens, phantasmal pain from the whip cane. 

Simon is back. 

She approaches him cautiously, glancing at the now completely dead Ludwig. “Why?” 

“Oh, he’s well and truly gone, now. A tragic figure,” he says, motioning to the arrow. An uncommon weapon for a hunter. “But he will shame himself no longer. He died with his ideals untarnished. He was a true hero, and earnt that much, at least.” 

“How do you know that?” she interrupts. 

He keeps his head down even as he looks over at her, falling silent for a moment before grabbing the sword set on his back. 

She clutches her weapon so hard her knuckles ache, waiting. 

He must notice it, her anxiety and mistrust. He’s a hunter too. He offers her the greatsword, amusement plain as day in his voice, “Here. Ludwig’s guiding light. The thread that led, and misled, that consummate hero. The poor brute.” 

She wants to demand an explanation, to carve the truth of out him and his pretentious language, but he’s done nothing to earn that and the instinct alone makes her stomach roll with guilt. She has morals. Hunting cannot take that from her. 

“Do you know why the Hunters are drawn to the Nightmare?” he asks. “Because it sprouted but their very misdeeds. Things that some would rather keep secret. A pitiful tale of petty arrogance, really. High time someone exposed the whole charade.” 

“Someone,” she repeats. It doesn’t escape her that he didn’t specify. He could mean himself or her, or perhaps the both of them. What good would it do to “expose” this mess though? As if tearing the church down to its foundation would do Yharnam any good when almost everyone has been possessed by beast or kin. 

Does Simon even know what's become of Yharnam? 

She narrows her eyes. He appears to be alive, but so do the other Hunters trapped in this wretched Nightmare. She could very well be the only truly living creature here (although even she is only kept alive by virtue of her bond with the Dream). 

He doesn’t offer anymore insight after that, simply waving her off with a vague reminder of the mysteries she is to unravel. She leaves him be. 

She’s pleased to know that the blood saint doesn’t return after being killed, although her companion’s ferocity might make up for her absence in terms of emotional and physical difficulty. It’s strange that despite them being shades of their former, living selves, they seem to have retained their bonds. 

If her rage blinded eyes are anything to go off of, the Hunter can assume she just killed someone Important to her. A hard pill to swallow, even when she knows it was in self defense. 

The second saint’s grief makes her movements sloppy and repetitive. She is easily parried, and the Hunter takes full advantage of the visceral. A quick, merciful death. 

(her blood is cold, although it gushes from her wound like her heart still beats. It is… disturbing, to say the least) 

The Hunter finds a skull on the altar they sought to protect, the kind that Vicar Amelia prayed to. Probably the same one. She imagines Laurence would like it returned to him (she also spends a good thirty seconds trying to come up with a way to work asking if he’s “lost his head” either into their introduction or battle. The way this Nightmare has been shaping up so far makes her think it will be a battle. So maybe if he lands a good hit? hm). 

Things to think about. 

The altar itself appears to double as an elevator. It trip up is unusually long, the clean, Choir style architecture disappearing somewhere along the way. It’s replaced by something more reminiscent of the workshop, or lower cathedral ward. She lights the lanturn but does not rest, not yet. 

Inside is… 

Horrific. 

The base of the staircase is a pool of poison and patients, their heads (possibly?) swollen and shifting with every miniscule movement. Liquid? 

The sound is certainly liquid, and the implication behind that makes her feel ill. 

Maybe there is a Great One here? She can’t imagine any other reason for people to subject themselves to such treatment. Yharnamites are… voracious for more knowledge of the Great Ones, from Byrgenwerth to Yahar’gul and the school of Mensis. 

But this is a little… extreme. 

Is this what Simon meant?

Is there worse? 

She’s filled with the same sense of unease that accompanied her during her trips to the Lecture Building, the scent of salt and iron rubbing her throat raw. There’s something… soft too, like flowers. Something deceivingly delicate that has no place here.

It’s a guessing game from the very beginning who’s aggressive and who’s simply sad. The latter cry out for Maria, grasping at the Hunter’s clothes as she passes. “Oh, Lady Maria, please, just hold my hand. Just for a moment.” 

She is hardly a lady, but surely a hunter will be enough for them. She wordlessly offers her gloved hand, afraid that her voice would alarm them.

“Oh, thank you, Lady Maria, it has been so long!” They cry, moving to ‘face’ her. They took the opposite approach of the Mensis Scholars, removing eyes entirely from the equation. Their grip is so tight she can feel the bones shift against one another, but she stays until they let go by their own volition. 

They murmur praises to Lady Maria even as she leaves, the sound following her much further than it has any right to. 

How could the Church do these things without facing backlash? Was it secret? Were all these patients volunteers or, perhaps worse, Church members themselves? 

Something aches in her very bones, shifting and shimmering with pity. She has no room to judge experimenting with ascension, but at least her damage is narrowed to one person. This is  _ profane _ . 

There’s more of her fellow Hunters, but not many. Three in one room is startling, making her dodge left and right as she picks them off. Maybe next time a more stealthy approach would be best. 

The elevator seems to lead down to the base level of the Research Hall, but she’s more preoccupied with the patient strapped to a chair, needles and various instruments still in her. 

“Lady Maria, is that you?” She asks. She sounds… hopeful. More affectionate than the other patients. 

The Hunter takes a cautious few steps forward, planning to do the same she did earlier and offer silent consolation. 

The patient shakes her head (and goddess the way her swollen head moves is disturbing. The Hunter feels empathetic dizziness as the liquid shifts and whirls). “No, you’re not lady Maria. Who are you?” 

She hesitates. “A Hunter.” 

The patient hums, hands pulling on her bindings as if she wants to gesture. “A Hunter! Are you one of the Church? I thought all but Maria had abandoned us.” She’s got a smile in her voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“You as well…” She prompts. 

“Adeline. I was a blood saint of the Church before we began research.” She sounds equally proud of both things, despite the way her right hand clenches and relaxes in obvious pain. The machinery doesn’t appear to be doing anything aside from hurting her. Maybe at one point it administered medicine or more likely, blood, but its now as dusty as everything else. 

How long has she been stuck here?

“Do-- Can I help? You’re hurting.” The Hunter moves closer, her hands fluttering uselessy in front of her. 

She rotates her left hand, the most dramatic movement she seems capable of. “Oh, thank you, good Hunter, but I am fine. If anything I would ask that you do a small favor for me?” 

“Of course.” She agrees immediately. 

“I need Brain Fluid. Murky, mushy Brain Fluid.” She says it so casually, as if this is an everyday request. Like asking for a blood vial or a few spare coins. 

“...” The Hunter can’t find her words for a moment, struggling to comprehend what she’s asking. “Brain fluid?” 

Adeline laughs, much too sweet and bubbly for where she resides. “You can get it from other patients, or. What used to be patients. The ones who’ve ascended. Received their very own revelations.” Her voice dips into something sweet and reverent. 

If there was doubt that a Great One is involved, there’s none now. 

When the Hunter doesn’t respond Adeline simply adds, “Please, kind Hunter.” 

“I will… see what I can do.” She says, glancing at the door. It feels rude to leave without saying goodbye, but she can’t find the right words and hesitation only makes her more nervous. The door does in fact lead back to the first floor, directly in front of the lanturn. 

The pool is much more active with patients, their legs seemingly useless and arms pinned to their sides with straps. They move like caterpillars or slugs, slamming their faces against the stone and seemingly unaffected. 

Maybe those swollen heads don’t feel pain? 

The Hunter’s lips curl back, toeing the line between pity and horror before it quickly morphs into a familiar anger. She tightens her hold on the sawcleaver and continues on her way. Next time Gehrman stops by her Dream she’s going to have a few questions about the Church. 

The newer patients use an attack oddly similar to the Augur of Ebrietas, easy to dodge but hard hitting. She also finds its hard to hit them back, being as low to the ground as they are. 

She figures that just means she has to get a bigger weapon out of storage. Time to head back to the Dream. 

The Kirkhammer has always been one of her favorites, despite it being a Church weapon. There’s something very entertaining about swinging a weapon that’s bigger than your torso. She keeps the sawcleaver in her offhand just in case, but if things keep up the way they have she thinks she can get away with not using it. 

And as it turns out, a stealthy approach isn’t really necessary as long as you one shot everything before they can strike first. 

The Hunter smiles. 

Time for the real fun.

* * *

Lumenflowers.

That’s what the mystery smell is. Giant Lumenflowers. They serve as a wonderful shield from the meteorite attack from the failed Great Ones. The Living Failures. 

(The Hunter has never felt compelled to call failed attempts at eldritch abominations “relatable”, but… honestly.) 

There’s a lot of them, but no more than four on the field at any time. Still, the whole thing is rather overwhelming and  _ dreadfully  _ time-consuming. Not to mention the lack of fellow Hunters in the area. She supposes it was wishful thinking to believe that other Hunters would be as stupidly inquisitive as she. Of course she and Simon are the only ones in the area (and the one in the dungeons asking about bells, although she doubts his importance). 

But finally, after a few times too many in her opinion, they stop dragging themselves out of the garden. 

Usually after a Big Fight, there is a lull in the excitement. Progress to be made and more information to be gleaned. 

This time it seems like there isn’t going to be such a lull. The room ahead of her is… reminiscent of a church, although not one of Yharham’s. They favor stone and harsh lines, whereas this room is almost entirely composed of wood. In the very back is the clock face, warm light casting a halo effect on the room’s only occupant. 

There’s a woman, slumped against the back of her chair with a telling stain maring her cravat. Her weapon lies in her lap, a double bladed trick weapon. She’s completely relaxed, almost like she’s sleeping (or dead), but if this Nightmare has taught her anything, she is almost assuredly alive.

The Hunter deeply regrets not returning to the Dream as she runs her fingers over the tops of her remaining vials. Three. Barely enough to fully heal. 

“Lady Maria?” She asks, wincing at the sound of her own voice. Every instinct says not to approach Maria, but without a response there’s really nothing else she can--

“A corpse... should be left well alone.” 

O fuck. 

She is right there, pulling the Hunter close enough that she can feel her unnaturally cool breath on her cheek. Her nails dig into the Hunter’s arm, no doubt leaving red streaks as she pulls away, trying to put more space between herself and Maria. 

“Oh, I know very well, how the secrets beckon so sweetly.” She continues, voice soft and gentle even as she picks up her trick weapon. 

The Hunter continues backing up, one hand on her gun and the other hesitating to take hold of the Kirkhammer. 

“Only an honest death will cure you now,” The sound of her weapon transformation rings in the Hunter’s ears. “Liberate you from your wild curiosity.”

The Hunter is, regrettably, completely unable to tell whether she’s shuddering in fear or because a beautiful lady just threatened to liberate her wild curiosity. 

Maria lunges and the Hunter makes a split second decision. 

No.

She’s uncomfortable with killing humans on a good day, even when they make the first move. 

The idea of killing Lady Maria, who seems to be the patients only source of comfort in this fucking Nightmare of a realm, is unfathomable. She is no beast, nor a danger to Yharnam. This is not the job of a Hunter, even one bearing the Crow badge. 

Her hand falls away from the hammer and pistol. 

Maria does not hesitate. 

* * *

Dying is not an unfamiliar feeling, but having the murderer take their time is new and oddly exhilarating. The Hunter can still feel her leaning close, whispering a prayer in her ear as she thrusts her sword up into her heart. It's a practiced move, and the Hunter has to respect that.

Even when she bleeds out in a matter of seconds. 

She clutched Maria's lapels as she weakened, and blessedly, the Lady allowed it. There was something almost... tender about it, really. 

Or perhaps the Hunter has been on her own much too long, and all the blood has clouded her idea of romance. 

Doll smiles as she pulls herself off the ground, greeting, "Kind Hunter." 

She grimaces, lifting a hand to wave at Doll. Words are hard enough, but when your mouth still tastes like blood words are impossible. 

Doll isn't very talkative either, thankfully. She allows the Hunter to quietly go about her business with repairing her gear and hesitating in front of the tombstone that'll take her back to the nightmare. Doll prays in front the same stone sometimes, wishing for safety. 

_ Don't be a baby. _

She presses her hand to the tombstone and closes her eyes. 

There is a half second of  _ void _ , like she's at the bottom of an impossibly dark ocean. Like she's home. 

And then she opens her eyes to the warm light to the lantern. 

She rises with a stretch, her kirkhammer returned to its perch on her lower back. It's a familiar, if not crushing, weight. 

Lady Maria is waiting. Her posture is  _ regal _ , shoulders back and head held high. The Hunter regrets not picking a more aesthetically pleasing armor set, or fixing her hair before returning. Maybe then Maria would be a little more amicable.

Then again, maybe the Hunter is just vain, and hungry for even the slightest bit of positive attention. 

"I'm not fighting you." Speaking slightly louder than normal makes her accent all the more obvious, and she shifts anxiously. Why can't she be like Eileen? At least  _ her _ foreign accent is  _ pretty _ . And she does wear it so well. Like its something to be proud of, regardless of whatever the xenophobic Yharnamites think. 

Alas. The Hunter is not known for her confidence, unless it involves shooting an enemy in the face before their hit can land. 

And the way Lady Maria is eyeing her does not help the situation. 

She doesn't move to attack though, and that makes her brave enough to continue, "I'm not sure what you believe I'm here for, but it is not... ill intentioned. I simply wish to end this Nightmare." It is her duty after all, to clean up the messes left behind by the Old Hunters. Like Ebriates. She did not deserve to be left all alone. 

Lady Maria tilts her head (the Hunter does not know her well enough to say if she is curious or mocking), "This Nightmare does  _ not  _ end." 

The Hunter winces. "No. That is not-- there is a way." She isn't quite sure  _ how  _ she knows that, she has long since stopped questioning these things. It simply  _ is.  _ Questioning it is as asinine as trying to draw blood from the cobblestones. 

Maria clearly thinks otherwise, "How do you know that?" 

"I," She starts and stops, wringing her hands together in front of her. Maria tenses at the motion, as if expecting her to grab a throwing knife or something. "I cannot explain it. I can just  _ feel it _ ." There is something here that must be put to rest, and that will end the Nightmare. 

Lady Maria's low hum has no right to reach her ears, not from across the room, but the Hunter hears it as clearly as if she were pressed up against her. Which, is truthfully a thought she does not need in her mind. It's very distracting.

Thankfully, Maria pulls her back with a quiet, "If you are so sure, you must be willing to fight to reach it." 

She knows that Lady Maria is a  _ Lady _ , and deserves some amount of... decorum, but the only thing the Hunter can get past the ball in her throat is a strangled, " _ Fuck no. _ " 

Maria huffs, seemingly amused. "What not? Tis a Hunter's job to hunt." She says it like she's reciting something. An old hunters adage maybe? 

_ I am  _ The  _ Hunter _ , she thinks, although she's not sure herself what that means. Probably better to keep it to herself them. "We don't hunt indiscriminately." She says after a pause, unable to keep her eyes on Maria. Instead she stares down the clock's face, the sensation of there being  _ something  _ amping up another notch. 

(She knows there is a possibility that Maria is the one that must be hunted anyway, and that her own petty feelings are clouding her vision, but she doesn't want to linger on that thought) 

"We don't?" Maria's voice is layered, anger, hatred, something else. She could decode it if they spent more time together, but for now it's just confusing. 

_ What are you talking about? _ The question burns in her mouth, but before she can get her nerve up again, the sharp crack of a weapon changing forms sounds. 

Well. She supposes only  _ one death  _ was a little too much to hope for. 

She doesn't move from her place or to grab the kirkhammer, despite every instinct in her body screaming for her to do so. To fight would send her even further back in winning over Maria than when she walked in the first time.

Maria draws close slower this time, her weapon split into a sword that comes to rest just under her ribs and a dagger that is pressed against her throat. " _ This  _ is what we Hunters do." 

Maria's weapon is sharp enough that the Hunter feels her blood, not dripping but not gushing either, run down her throat and chest before she feels the sting of the actual injury. And  _ oh  _ does it burn. 

Again, she slumps forward, but this time a laugh bubbles out. "I'm a Dreamer, Lady Maria."  _ I will keep coming back.  _

The Hunter can feel the vibrations of Maria's reply, but the world is too fuzzy for the words to process. 

* * *

Third times not  _ quite  _ the charm, nor is the fourth or the fifth, but she is getting closer. She can  _ feel it _ , thrumming through her veins. She is so close, so close to being able to progress without killing.

Between the fifth and sixth attempt she returns to the lower sections of the Nightmare, determined to throw Maria off kilter a bit. Laurence is about as welcoming as she expected, although the fire is... an interesting form for him to take. 

Certainly that's a part of the Nightmare, although what that's supposed to  _ mean _ is beyond her at the moment. Perhaps she can consider how beautifully ironic it is when he's  _ not  _ trying to take a swipe at her. 

The trek to Laurence is annoying too, so she doesn't want to die more than she needs to. At least Maria has the decency to stay in a room so close to a lantern. 

She also has the decency to be waiting for her to return, although her face only betrays a split second of relief before settling into a scowl. "Where did you go, Hunter?" She asks. 

"Did you know Adeline?" She asks in return, stopping only about five paces from Maria. 

Maria's hands twitch. "She was one of my dearest friends, in life. Is...?" She seems unable to finish that sentence. 

"She asked me to provide her with brain fluid. I thought. I did not realize her "revelation" was one of death." Her chest hurts. She didn't know Adeline, not really, but it's never easy to lose an ally. 

Maria takes in a shaky breath and the Hunter wonders if she truly needs to breathe. Perhaps it's still comforting? She takes a deep breath herself, but it just makes her all the more aware aware of the dust and salt smell. Weird. The lumenflower's scent doesn't reach this room. 

"I'm sorry." She adds when Maria doesn't reply. 

"No. I only hope that her passing has allowed her to escape this Nightmare." Maria says, glancing over at her table. "I could not. Even in death, I was returned here." 

The Hunter sighs. "I want to help. Maybe with you I won't make any more missteps." 

"You consider death a 'misstep'?" Her voice is a razors edge. 

"Stars,  _ no. _ Adeline was a friend. I only wanted to help her. My misstep was doing as she asked without asking  _ what  _ brain fluid does to her."  _ I didn't know I didn't know I hate not knowing I couldn't have I can't save anyone-- _

"Hunter." Maria slices right through her panic. 

She blinks dumbly, aware that Maria is standing now, and while she's clutching the feathers of her cape, she's not armed. "Hello?" 

Maria's eyebrows pull together. Worried?  _ Concerned _ ? "Hunter." She repeats, tasting the word. "Do you have a name?" 

"No. Maybe?" Sometimes she hears someone between the lantern and the Dream. Sometimes she can hears the whispers, secrets that no mortal should bare. "You may call me what you wish." 

(Annalise says she's asking for trouble, giving people the freedom to call her whatever, but she never explained that particular line of thought. The Hunter figures whatever bad names she could be labeled with are worth it when Annalise greets her as her “gorgeous hunter”)    
  
Maria sighs, looking her over again. “What gutter did they pull you from then?” Despite the harshness of the question, she doesn't seem to be trying to get a rise out of the Hunter.    
  
She presses her lips together. “Sickroom, actually.”    
  
Maria’s icy eyes soften a bit, not pity but close. Empathy? “I’m sorry.”    
  
She shrugs. “Not like there’s many lining up to take part in the holy hunt nowadays. I needed treatment, they needed a Hunter.”    
  
“Still, being bound to the Dream is a fate worse than death, most cases. Did they… they didn’t explain what you getting into.” Hearing Lady Maria struggle for words makes her feel better about her own lacking speech.    
  
“No, they did not.” The Hunter admits, pressing her hand against her solar plexus. She has vague memories of her lungs aching and being paralyzed on the clinic bed, Messengers protecting her from a beast.    
  
Maria doesn’t relax, but she doesn’t look quite as poised for a moment. Her lips pull into a snarl, her hands curling into fists. “Again, I’m sorry.”    
  
“It’s fine.” She lies. “Eventually this hunt will end.” Probably. Maybe? The Hunter doubts anything will severe her connection with the Moon, but perhaps it will fade after this all ends. Given the nature of “death” for Yharnam hunter’s, she can’t imagine that will solve anything.    
  
Maria seems to be on the same page as she is, but doesn’t press the issue. “You are alone.” She says instead, nodding towards the exit. “Did you not have a mentor?”    
  
So there  _ were  _ mentors! The Hunter snorts in amusement. “Uh. Gharman keeps the Dream and gives vague advice, I suppose. Eileen has helped me a few times.” She shimmies in place, making the feathers of her cape flutter.    
  
“A Crow?” Maria asks. She reaches for said cape, simply running her fingers over it this time. The Hunter is not sure whether she wants to back away or lean into it.    
  
“She’s retired now. A different crow, one of Cainhurst nearly killed her. She doesn’t dream any more.” The Hunter ends up just allowing Maria to do what she will. “She gave me her badge.” And promised that she’ll take care of Gasciogne’s children.    
  
Maria takes a deep breath. “I should kill you.”    
  
The sudden change gives her emotional whiplash, stealing any trace of eloquence. “I’d appreciate. You know. Not that?” She says haltingly, accidentally bumping Maria’s hand as she tries to grab her shirt. She usually clutches her gun or weapon for comfort, but doing now might give Maria the wrong idea.    
  
Maria pulls away like she’s been scalded, eyeing her own hand suspiciously. “You truly believe that this Nightmare can be ended?”    
  
Her knee jerk reaction is to say something snarky, like “That  _ is  _ what I’ve been saying the previous five visits,” but instead she goes with a simple, “Yes. I do.”    
  
“And I cannot allow you go  _ alone _ ,” Maria says, mostly to herself. The Hunter doesn’t really understand that line of thought, but figures having a… friend? ally? having  _ someone  _ to watch her back, especially one as quick as Maria, can’t be a bad thing.    
  
(she also admits that having someone nearby in general helps with the terrible loneliness, but just  _ thinking  _ that is mortifying)    
  
Maria sighs, “I will… consider it. Allowing you to proceed to the--” Her words seem caught in her throat. “to proceed. Give me time, Hunter.” 

The Hunter allows herself a smile. “Thank you.”    



	2. Chapter 2

Maria is caught between annoyance and relief when the Hunter opts to keep quiet as the clock face reveals the Fishing Hamlet. Her eyes are sharp, taking in everything and anything that could be a threat, but she doesn’t reach for her weapon quite yet.   
  
She doesn’t ask, but Maria feels compelled to explain, “This used to be a village, before the Great One came to their shores. We… hunted her. Mother Kos.”   
  
The Hunter glances at her curiously, “Something went wrong?”  
  
“Very.” Maria leaves it at that.   
  
She makes a humming noise in return, and takes precisely one step onto the sand before grimacing. “Is everything in the Nightmare _moist?_ ” She almost makes moist sound more like a curse than “fuck.”   
  
Maria feels laughter bubble in her throat, “Is this an issue, Hunter?”   
  
She sends Maria the kind of glare that _should’ve_ accompanied their fights. The Hunter sits down on the stone with a huff, yanking off her boots. “I’m not walking around with squishy shoes.” She says defiantly.   
  
“You would rather slice your feet open on rocks?”  
  
The Hunter looks pained. She debates for a moment before putting her boots back on, although she clearly doesn’t _want to._ It’s… cute. Maria allows herself a miniscule smile. She’s missed this.   
  
The Hunter opens her mouth and then closes it, struggling for words again. In the end she decides to forge on ahead instead, leaving Maria wondering what goes on in her head. She’s a good hunter, from what she’s gathered, if not an unusual one. Maria can count on her hands the hunters that have made it all the way to the top of the clocktower, and none were especially sane. She is, obviously, but her speech and mannerisms…  
  
Maria follows her silently, past the talkative villager to the lantern that she lights but doesn’t use. They linger nearby for a while, the Hunter looking through her supplies while Maria gazes at the warm purple light. The sight is comforting, although she is well aware that lanterns no longer have any function for her. If she dies she will not reawaken, as far as she can tell.   
  
The Hunter will, clearly, and she seems to use that as an excuse to be reckless as they press on. She is _very_ fond of swinging around that weapon of hers with reckless abandon, although her timing is impeccable. She understands the weaknesses of heavy weapons then. Still. Her form could use work.   
  
Maria bites down on the inside of her cheek, wondering if hunting advice could be taken as a slight. It’s been a long _long_ time since she’s ever felt the urge to teach anyone, but the Hunter herself admitted to not having a mentor.   
  
Unfortunately she doesn’t get the chance to make up her mind before the Hunter catches the attention of a Shark Giant. Maria can’t discern if she’s excited or terrified when she squeaks, “What is _that?_ ”   
  
She switches to the sword form of her weapon as they both jump out of the way, letting the beast charge right past them. Maria also transforms her weapon, certain that her gun won’t do much good in this fight. It’s even bigger than she remembers.   
  
Admittedly, a giant shark creature isn’t the best dry run for how well they mesh as hunting partners, but they fall into step easily enough. The Hunter is very adept at playing bait and quick-stepping out of the way, her movements quickened by some item she clutches in her free hand.   
  
The Giant falls quicker than Maria expected, but not quite quick enough to avoid all damage. It smashes the Hunter into the floor, and for the first time in what feels like millenia, Maria gets that rush of contained panic that accompanied her on many a hunt.   
  
She’s not dead. If she were dead, her body would fade into the dream. She’s _not dead,_ but she’s not moving either.   
  
Maria lunges for the beast, determined to finish the fight. Their dual attacks had weakened it enough that one power attack is enough to do so, but Maria throws in another couple slashes just to be sure it doesn’t get up.  
  
The Hunter is struggling to grab a blood vial when Maria joins her again, her breath coming out in gasps. “I _think_ it broke something.” She says, voice cracking.   
  
Maria remembers that one of the first steps to mentoring is to distance yourself from new recruits, because they are the most likely to die. Maria really can’t remember _how_ to do that though, looking at the Hunter try and smile for her, despite the undoubtedly immense pain she’s in.   
  
Maria sighs. “You have to work on patience.” She reaches over her to grab one of the vials out of her pocket, flicking off the cap with a practiced hand. It’s not the kind of muscle memory that needs refreshing. “Which leg do you use?” It differs from hunter to hunter, although most do prefer to use their thighs for blood administration. Citizens who use it recreationally differ wildly.   
  
“Right.” She says. Her face scrunches when the needle goes in and then relaxes as the blood does its thing. “Thanks.” She sends Maria a grateful smile, brown eyes sparkling.   
  
(oh, why did this Hunter have to be _pretty?_ )   
  
“...Not a problem. Do you need another?” Maria _just barely_ resists the urge to brush the hair out of her face.   
  
“Pre-fer-a-bly.” She cuts the word into syllables, like she’s not quite sure that’s how you say it.    
  
One more vial and the Hunter is trying to get up on her elbows, mostly healed but still sore. Maria offers her a hand (to be kind, _of course_. Not because she’s so warm that it seeps through the leather of their gloves, and to the long dead Maria it feels holy, it feels alive). She seems pleased as she accepts, letting Maria pull her up to her feet. “You’re very strong.”   
  
Maria glances over at her discarded weapon. “I could say the same.”   
  
She laughs. “No, I meant like. You’re.” She simply motions towards Maria, as if that answers the question. “I...” She sighs and glances down. “I am _covered in muck._ ”   
  
The abrupt change in tone makes Maria laugh, even as the Hunter is pulling away and trying to wipe her hands off on her equally filthy pants. She mutters curses that Maria has never even heard before, her face pinched up in annoyance. “Oh, I can just tell I’m not going to like it here.” She says.   
  
“You picked an odd profession then.” She didn’t actually _pick_ it, but Maria figures that doesn’t matter when she’s joking anyway. Although it has been a very long time since she’s been comfortable enough to joke. Maybe even before she started work in the Research Hall.   
  
The Hunter has a way about her that puts others at ease, a compassionate streak that overshadows the blood and her nervous ticks.   
  
She is also, as previously stated, one of the only people not blooddrunk and raving that Maria has met since being cursed with this Nightmare. And it doesn’t help that she’s pretty. Anyone who can look like she does now while covered in muck and so recently smashed into the ground by a beast is _dangerous._  
  
Maria has the passing thought that if they had met at one of the Healing Church parties, or even during one of Cainhurst’s gala’s, they could’ve been… something different.   
  
The Hunter stretches, trying to make her body believe that it’s healed. “Blood doesn’t bother me. It’s _slimy stuff_ that gets me all… ugh.” She says, grabbing the hammer. The sword clicks into place and she hefts the weapon onto her shoulder. “Come on. I think town square is ahead.”   
  
Maria winces. “I threw Rakuyo down that well.”   
  
“You… threw your weapon down a well?” She repeats, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. She pauses, and then continues, “Did it return to you in the Nightmare?”   
  
“Indeed. When I _awoke_ it was by my side.” Maria spins the weapon, and the Hunter gives a distracted grin.   
  
“Do you think the original is still down there? Or. The Nightmare copy of the original.” She frowns. “Nightmare logistics are weird.”    
  
Maria shrugs. “Maybe. Nonetheless, I wouldn’t recommend going down to look.”   
  
She hums in agreement but her eyes return to the well throughout the next bought of fighting the fishermen. Maria gets the feeling that if they’re separated she will find the Hunter at the well, fighting whatever monsters have taken a liking to Rakuyo in her absence.   
  
She’s stubborn like that. She must be, to have made it this far. It’s only made more obvious as she drags Maria through each and every building, searching.   
  
Speaking of… “Why did you come to the Nightmare in the first place?”  
  
The Hunter jumps, the blood chunk in her hand falling onto the floor. “Uh. I… The messengers gave me the ‘eye of a blooddrunk hunter’ and the lesser amygdala outside of cathedral ward grabbed me.”   
  
While certainly interesting, that’s not what Maria was asking. “You could’ve returned to Yharnam. Exploring wasn’t necessary.”   
  
“Oh.” She says, once again grabbing the chunk. She rolls it between her fingers as she explains, “I… I have this need to know things? Not to make discoveries like the Church and not to _satiate my wild curiosity_ \--” She gives Maria a Look, her mouth briefly twisting into a flirtatious smirk, “--but to _understand_ what led to the Yharnam I know. Things have gone… bad. And there’s no one around to provide me with an explanation. Not anymore.”   
  
It takes a moment for the full weight of her words to sink in, leaving Maria to stare uncomprehendingly at the Hunter. “What do you mean?”   
  
She winces. “I mean that I don’t know if Yharnam will survive until sunrise. I mean that this hunt has dragged on so long even the people holed up in their houses are turning. I… I was only able to save four adults and Gascoigne’s children. The Chapel dweller keeps them safe but.” She shakes her head. “Even then. My friend was “chosen” to mother of one of those celestial infants.”   
  
Maria’s panic is halted by the sight of the Hunter’s tears. She moves slow, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Did you kill her? The mother?”   
  
“She _asked_ me to. Said she’d rather die than have that _thing_ kill her slow. I couldn’t, I didn’t want that either.” She says, reaching to cover Maria’s hand with hers. Her grip is gentle, allowing Maria the freedom to pull away.   
  
“I’m sorry. No young Hunter should have to make that decision.” All Hunters bare scars of their service of course, but she… she has done more than most, it seems.   
  
“There’s no one else.” She says. “Gehrman is bound to the Dream and Eileen retired and… there’s no one else.”   
  
“There’s me.” Maria offers weakly, knowing its a terrible consolation. She _did_ kill her several times after all.   
  
The Hunter smiles anyway, gazing up at Maria with such raw affection it makes her chest ache. It’s dangerous, to trust someone so easily. If Maria were a good mentor she’s scold her for being so quick to befriend someone who stabbed her. Someone trapped in the Nightmare.   
  
But she’s apparently not as good a mentor as she thought she was, because she finds herself smiling instead, squeezing the Hunter’s shoulder.   
  
“Thank you.” She says, casual as can be. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”   
  
_That’s not fair,_ Maria thinks, feeling something long forgotten stirring in her chest. When did their faces get so close anyway?   
  
The Hunter laughs all of a sudden, pulling away from Maria. “Sorry. We should probably save serious conversations for when we’re near lanterns, huh?”   
  
“Yes?” It sounds more like a question then Maria intended.   
  
The Hunter laughs again, her sullen mood disappearing as quick as it came. “Let’s see if we can’t find anymore of those Shark Giants.”   
  
She’s a little too excited about fighting those things.   
  


* * *

  
The next lantern is, in fact, guarded by a Shark Giant that the Hunter seemingly relishes in fighting. Maria isn’t sure how to feel about that and what it says about the Hunter, but her happy little grin when the shark falls completely derails her train of thought anyway, so she doesn’t get the chance to puzzle it out.    
  
And here Maria half thought that she would regret finally agreeing to allow her into the fishing hamlet without a fight to the death.    
  
The Hunter hesitates at the lantern, on hand outstretched for it while the other counts her remaining blood vials. “If I…” She begins, looking to Maria with an apologetic smile. “Will you wait for me? You don’t have your own dream, right?”    
  
“I will remain here, Hunter.” Hunter. Without the article it  _ almost  _ sounds like an actual name. Maria will have to ask her about that when she returns.    
  
Watching another hunter fade into the dream is odd, always has been, but it’s odder still in the Nightmare. Most are  _ trapped _ , seeing someone leave so easily is weird.    
  
Maria settles onto the floor next to the lantern, content to guard the house and watch the gentle light flicker. She’s sure if they found a way in those Shark Giants could break it, although no normal beast or blooddrunk could do so.    
  
The idea of the Hunter being unable to return here makes her acutely uncomfortable. Clearly after being alone so long, having someone near has spoiled her.  _ Shameful.  _   
  
Of course, the same could be said for the Hunter, who wears her relief plain as day when she returns from the dream to see Maria is still there. The sight makes Maria’s chest feel too tight, and not even she can tell if that’s good or bad.    
  
She’s got thicker boots on this time, but still wears the crowfeather garb and the typical Yharnam hunter hat, although she doesn’t pull the mask up to cover her mouth. She should, if she really is worried about how much muck is in the area, but maybe she’s keeping it off for Maria’s benefit.    
  
Or maybe she’s still worried that if Maria sees her dressed as the typical hunter that she’ll kill her again.    
  
Both are valid reasons, but both make Maria scold herself.  _ Maybe  _ it’s not about her, and the Hunter just doesn’t like masks.    
  
The Hunter tears her away from the self scolding with a smile and a quiet greeting. “You stayed.” She says, sounding both surprised and pleased by this.    
  
“I said I would.” Maria responds, unsure of where she’s going with this.    
  
She simply shrugs. “I know, it’s just. I wasn’t sure if you meant it.” She holds her hands out for Maria, offering to help her up. She could very well stand on her own, but she accepts anyway, if only to feel her warmth again. She had forgotten how warm living things are.    
  
The Hunter seems hesitant to sever contact as well, letting her hands linger after Maria gets her footing. She glares at the jeweled brooch on Maria’s cravat and bites down on her lip. “Uh. Okay.” She says, suddenly, pulling away. “So we need to proceed through the Hamlet, correct?”    
  
“I believe so.” Maria says slowly. “There is a network of caves that lead down to the beach. They were useful in storing the catch. There was also a road at one point, but I don’t believe the Nightmare copied that.”    
  
“Does the Nightmare not mimic everything?” She tilts her head to the side curiously.    
  
“It takes memories, twists them up, melds them to one another. Some things it seems more fond of than others, and those repeat.” Maria explains, leading for the first time. The grave right outside the little home overlooks said beach, and the Great One dead on its shores.    
  
The Hunter seems… wounded by the sight of Kos, her hand moving up to her chest to clutch at the feathers. “The Nightmare is… sentient, then?”    
  
Maria shudders. “Not quite. Not that I know of, at the very least.”    
  
She takes a deep breath, releases her hold on her cape, and straightens her back. “You and me, Lady Maria. We’re going to put an end to this.”    
  
“Maria.”    
  
“Hm?”    
  
“There is no need for you to call me ‘Lady Maria.’” Truthfully, she’s never had an issue before with her fellow hunters addressing her by title, but when the Hunter does it, it seems. Wrong. Too impersonal, perhaps.    
  
The Hunter laughs, pulling away from the cliff’s edge to mock curtsy. Her movements are clumsy, like she’s just mimicking something she’s seen other people do. “Of  _ course _ , Maria.” She says, smiling mischievously. “Twould be an honor to refer to…” Her eyes narrow. “Thou? Is thou proper? Or is is thee?”    
  
Maria is unable to stop herself from laughing. “Tis a mystery for the ages, my dear Hunter.” She says.    
  
She takes a deep breath and sets her hands on her hips. “You know which it is, but you just don't wanna tell me.” Her accent becomes more obvious whenever she forgets herself. Maria finds it rather endearing, truthfully.    
  
“Are we going to hunt, or do you need a lesson on pronouns?” She finally says, still smiling.    
  
The Hunter is grinning as well, although hers is a lot less reserved. “How about… if I dodge more attacks than you, you have to answer my burning literary questions.”   
  
“Linguistic questions. And what do I get should I win?”    
  
“ _ Linguistic questions.”  _ She repeats with a roll of her eyes. “I guess I’ll answer any questions you have? Whatever you want, La-- Maria. Do we have ourselves a deal?” She offers a hand.    
  
“Hm…” Maria makes a show of thinking it over, watching the Hunter grow evermore anxious. She seems most at ease while hunting, while long conversations, even ones she enjoys, rile her up. What a strange creature. “You have yourself a deal.” She finally says, shaking her hand.    
  
The Hunter flashes one last smile before grabbing her kirkhammer. “Let’s go then,  _ Maria. _ Show me what you’ve got.”    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know how many chapters this is going to be but hey. I'm having fun so far 
> 
> if theres any spelling mistakes its my fault i didnt get this beta'd but i would like to blame the puppy in my lap as well, for distracting me. my foots asleep but hes So Cute 
> 
> i hope everyone's been having a happy and safe pride month!! just remember that loving urself isnt limited to June & u should be proud yr around


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what do we want??   
> sappy lesbians!!  
> when we want them??  
> Right Now!!!

The Hunter has never been one for pretty words, but as Maria administers her blood and asks if she,  _ The Hunter, She who slays Great Ones, Daughter of the Moon,  _ is okay, she wishes she could write sonnets and limericks and flowery  _ bullshit  _ until Maria understands. 

 

The Hunter has never been one for softness, but as Maria holds her hands, she wants nothing more than to stay like this, until the night ends, if not forever. 

 

The Hunter has never been one to scratch at the wall shielding her past, but when Maria asks if she has a name, she wonders. When Maria asks if she has a family, she thinks  _ I would like one.  _

 

“Did you? You’re a noble, right?” 

 

“Of Cainhurst. I was… thirty seventh? somewhere around thereabouts, in line for the throne.” Maria answers, hesitating. 

 

“Would that make you a princess?” She giggles. 

 

Maria glares at her out of the corners of her eyes, although it lacks any of the heat it had previously. There’s not even an ounce of venom in her reply, “There is a reason I am called  _ Lady  _ Maria.”

 

The Hunter continues smiling, but she can’t manage to maintain eye contact. Instead she fiddles with her hammers’ locking mechanism. Not enough to unsheathe the sword, but to make the gears clank. 

 

“Did… were you close with your family? Did you love them?” She asks carefully. 

 

Maria startles, her laugh coming out choked. “Hardly. I was close to a few of them, but Cainhurst isn’t famed for its warmth.” 

 

“Wasn’t.” The Hunter corrects blandly. 

 

Maria raises her eyebrows, “Hm?” 

 

“No one really knows about Cainhurst anymore. And the only living person left is Annalise. I think, at least. The servants  _ might  _ be alive, but the rest are ghostly.” She says it like she says almost everything, as if there’s  _ more  _ if you look close enough. 

 

“Ah.” Maria is very abruptly aware of their difference in eras. While she has been stuck in the Nightmare, time as been moving ever forward. “Then… The Queen is the only one left.” 

 

The Hunter bites the inside of her cheek. “Not quite. I fought a blooddrunk Crow. And. Technically, I am…” 

 

Maria doesn’t look disgusted like the Hunter feared she would, but she does seem alarmed, “Queen Annalise shared with you her blood?”

 

“She did. And I accepted because she seemed lonely.” She replies slowly. “I suppose I could relate. I don’t have any memories, and all my friends all end up dead, or worse, so the idea of being connected to someone who can’t die was…” She waves her gun listlessly, clearly struggling to find the right word.

 

“Very appealing.” Maria finishes for her. “I’m sorry, that the Hunt has been so cruel to you. I’m sorry that you had no choice in the matter.”

 

“That’s what the Hunt is nowadays.” She shrugs. “It's hardly your fault.” 

 

Maria remembers a time when the Hunt was a holy undertaking, when beasts were few and far between and the slaying of one meant saving the lives of their people. Maria remembers when she was proud of being a hunter, of being a researcher. 

 

But even then, she knows her pride was misplaced. What they did in the name of discovery was ghastly at best. 

 

This Hunter doesn’t  _ appear _ to harbor any resentment towards the Old Hunters, not that Maria has seen, but she wouldn’t blame her if she did. It would be well deserved. 

 

(The Hunter is so angry sometimes it burns, like she swallowed a molotov. She could tear the heart out of every  _ doctor  _ or  _ tomb prospector,  _ she could kill Ludwig again, she could destroy the Labyrinths under Yharnam one by one and it wouldn’t be enough to cool her veins.) 

 

(But then she looks at Maria, who shines so brilliantly and cares so viciously for the patients still trapped here, and she feels the burning burning burning anger morph into something softer. Maybe they really did think they were doing good. Maria certainly did.) 

 

They continue on in silence, Maria more lost in her musings than the environment. The Hunter isn’t as distracted, but she doesn’t feel the need to break the silence either. She’s probably talked more with Lady Maria than she has anyone else. 

 

Of course, it is troublesome to have your hunting partner spacing out when a group of enemies round the corner. The Hunter falls into a fighting stance immediately, moving in front of Maria automatically. She supposes it's an odd impulse, to protect. That’s not the job of a Hunter. 

 

Or maybe it  _ was,  _ and now its been twisted into something else. The Hunter doesn’t consider herself a protector, not when the people she cares for die anyway and she gets an adrenaline rush at the sight of blood, but maybe once…

 

She’ll ask Maria about it, when they’re not about to be spotted. 

 

“Maria?” She says, waving a hand in front of her face. When she blinks into focus, the Hunter motions ahead, where a group of fishers have yet to notice them. “Fish people.” 

 

“Yes.” It is much easier to zero in on fighting, after all. No time for introspection when there’s a fish trying to skewer you (the irony doesn’t escape either of them, but the Hunter does resist the compulsion to make a joke of it. Instead she sends Maria a closed mouth grin). 

 

They once again fall in step with one another, and Maria gets an inordinate rush of relief and thankfulness when the Hunter is unscathed by the end of the fight. She’s covered in blood and slime, and making a  _ terrible  _ face, but she is not injured, and that’s enough for Maria. 

 

“Gross.” She mutters, reaching for Maria. She sets her hand on her fellow hunter’s shoulder and uses her to keep steady as she shakes her boot, trying to dislodge something or another. Maria doesn’t  _ mind  _ the contact, but the... familiarity is startling. 

 

The Hunter seems to catch up with her actions a moment later, her head snapping up. “Sorry!” She pulls her hand away so quick she almost falls right over. 

 

“Almost” being used loosely, of course, because she would have  _ certainly  _ fallen if not for Maria. 

 

She reacts on instinct, wrapping one arm around the Hunter’s waist to steady her (if she falls she’s  _ dead meat,  _ the beasts will tear her into shreds within seconds), her free hand moving to rakuyo to defend (what a  _ foolish  _ recruit). 

 

But the Hunter doesn’t need defending, nor did she really need to be caught. She stares up at Maria in shock, lips moving like she wants to say something but can't get the words out.

 

“It is fine.” Maria says slowly. “No need to apologize.” 

 

The Hunter has never been one for pretty words, but Maria was. Maria was taught how to speak  _ properly,  _ how to enunciate every syllable perfectly, words for every occasion. 

 

She could describe in perfect detail the color of the Hunter’s eyes, and how her cheeks are smudged with grime she was unable to wipe off despite her best efforts, or that she hasn’t felt “cold” or “warm” in what feels like centuries, but the Hunter is so undeniably warm and the ankle deep water is freezing her in place, in the moment. 

 

She could do all that, but she still cannot figure out how to tell the Hunter “You’re beautiful.” 

 

There’s a blush creeping up her face, and Maria can’t say if it's the  _ good  _ kind of blush or the bad kind, so she releases the Hunter and takes a step backwards. “Well. We should proceed then, right?” Her fingers still burn where she touched the Hunter, but her voice comes out even.  _ Calm _ . 

 

“We-- we should.” The Hunter stutters, unable to meet Maria’s eyes. “I--” Her hands are trembling as she motions to the caves. “I’m sorry. For reaching for you first and then flipping out.” Her voice jumps an octave or two towards the end of her sentence. 

 

Maria shakes her head. “There’s no reason to apologize. I… I welcome the contact.” There’s no real time to regret her words before the Hunter flashes that smile of hers, the one that makes Maria’s train of thought stall. 

 

_ It’s not normal to get attached so fast. _

 

“I’ll keep that in mind, milady.” Her curtsies have not improved within the last hour, but she doesn’t tip over either. “In any case, let’s move on, yeah?”

 

Maria wishes they wouldn’t. 

* * *

The next time they ‘rest’, it is in front of a cave system Maria only vaguely remembers (and it certainly wasn’t  _ here,  _ but the Nightmare does as it pleases). 

 

Maria is loathe to use the Hunter’s blood vials (she is mortal,  _ killable _ ), and after giving up trying to convince her that it's alright, the Hunter now tends to her wounds by hand. One of the snail women landed a rather hard hit, slashing a hole through her pants and leaving four bleeding scratches on her thigh. The Hunter, despite her rather ridiculous disdain for all things  _ gross _ , was quick to get down on her knees in order to treat it. 

 

She has bandages in her pack, a kind that Maria has never seen before that doesn’t need to be wrapped. Odd. “Does that have some kind of adhesive?”

 

She quickly glances up, apparently taken off guard. “Uh. Yeah, actually. I got em from Iosefka. Faux-sefka? The glue helps healing too, it’s strange. Here, taste it.” She holds up one of the bandages, smiling encouragingly. 

 

“You want me to  _ taste it _ ? Is that what you do when you find unfamiliar medicine?” The very idea is worrying. 

 

“You’re the doctor, aren’t you?” It might just be Maria’s overly hopeful imagination but that sounded  _ flirtatious. _ Paired with the fact that she is still on her knees, one hand resting delicately on Maria’s thigh while she offers a bandage with the other, and Maria is downright dumbstruck. 

 

Hunter training did not prepare her for this moment. 

 

Noble training did not prepare her for this moment. 

 

(She doubts anything could’ve prepared her for this moment.) 

 

The Hunter smiles amusedly, taking her silence as a “no.” She lowers her hand and gets back to work. She’s gentle about it, although clearly untrained. If Maria were to guess, she’d say the only medical experience the Hunter has is that of which she’s picked up during the current hunt, and perhaps tending to minor wounds while working. Maria wonders what sort of work she did, before. She doesn’t seem like a noble, and her build does not lend itself towards intellectual labor. 

 

Not that Maria has taken special notice of her muscles, or how form fitting her armor is. Of course not. 

 

The woman is question is thankfully oblivious to Maria’s train of thought, and gently applies pressure to the wound. “Gotta let it stick,” She says offhandedly. Maria doesn’t really know what that means, but she’s happy to have the Hunter nearby for a little longer. 

 

(is it true attraction or a byproduct of being alone so long? Would they be so close if there weren’t a Hunt going on, if they weren’t in a Nightmare?) 

 

She digs her fingers in a bit, sending faint echoes of pain throughout Maria’s abdomen. “Ow.” She says automatically. It doesn’t  _ really  _ hurt, but it is a little surprising. 

 

“Oh, oops, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She quickly pulls her hands away, “I just. I usually press on it to make sure it gets stuck good.” 

 

Maria shrugs and pretends she’s not disappointed that she moved away, “Your sentence structure needs work.” 

 

Her face shifts from worried to wry. “I’ll be sure to remember that next time you get injured, my dear.” 

 

_ My dear, my dear, my dear.  _

 

Maria pushes the mushy of herself down, and responds, “You press it so it sticks  _ well _ .” 

 

“How bout I press  _ you _ ?” Her accent gets thicker as she curls her hands into fists, as if getting ready for a barroom brawl. That, paired with the fact she is  _ still  _ on her knees in front of her, sends Maria into a peal of laughter that leaves her gasping for air. 

 

“ _ Maria, _ ” The Hunter declares, mock exhausted. “That was a threat, not a joke!” Her voice and the way her shoulders tremble betray that statement, but she does manage to scowl somewhat convincingly. 

 

“I--You simply-- What--” Maria starts and stops several sentences, still trying to reign in her giggles. “What does  _ pressing me  _ entail?” 

 

The Hunter looks like she’s rapidly regretting her choice of words. “I meant like a  _ fight _ , not like. Like a.” She makes another of her motions, like her hands can articulate what her mouth cannot. 

 

Its… cute. 

 

Maria is not sure what sort of expression she’s making, but the Hunter stops trying to fix her slip up and just stares up at Maria. There’s  _ something  _ in her eyes and the curve of her mouth that makes Maria’s unnecessary heart race. 

 

If this were a  _ proper _ love story, the Hunter would’ve said something perfectly romantic like how grateful she is for her company, or that it’s just  _ so unfair  _ that injured and covered in blood, Maria is still so beautiful. 

 

But all she can think is, “What would you have done? If you didn’t become a Hunter?” 

 

Maria blinks, taking a moment to think it over. “I enjoyed my cooking lessons. Not the implication that one day I would have to serve my husband, but learning new combinations, new ways of preparing things. It was fascinating.” 

 

The Hunter glances away, considering her next question. “Were you opposed to marriage, or… to a  _ husband? _ ” 

 

The implication and  _ reason  _ for that question is quite clear, and Maria suddenly understands her hesitance. “To a husband. I wouldn’t have minded a wife. Perhaps my life would’ve turned out differently, if that were the case.”

 

“But then I wouldn’t have met you.” She says softly. “And you probably would’ve… would have ended up like the rest of Cainhurst.” 

 

Maria hates to see that expression on her face. “Maybe in another life, we would’ve met before Cainhurst fell. You, a royal retainer or something of that ilk, and I a lonely princess.” 

 

“ _ Of that ilk _ .” The Hunter repeats with a giggle. “Would this royal retainer sweep the princess off her feet? Run away together?” She prompts, reaching up to offer Maria a hand. She shifts so she’s down on one knee rather than both, the picture of a devoted knight. 

 

(if a devoted knight was allowed to be covered in various slimy substances, use a giant hammer rather than a rapier, and wear foreigners garb, not to even  _ mention  _ how un-princess-y Maria knows she is at the moment) 

 

Maria laughs anyway, and takes her hand between both of her own in order to pull her to her feet. The Hunter allows her to do so, smiling when they’re face to face. “I know you don’t remember before the Hunt, but you must’ve been a fiend for romance novels.” Maria says. 

 

“That didn’t answer my question.” She says, singsong and smiling before reiterating, “In another life… You think…” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

And suddenly it's not a silly little joke or a passing thought, but something they could’ve had if fate were a little kinder. Suddenly it’s something Maria wants so badly she aches, to see the Hunter before she became  _ The Hunter _ , to be able to romance her slow and sweet, the way a romantic like her deserves, to leave Cainhurst together, or petition Annalise to allow them to be together, to--

 

“Maria?” The Hunter asks, gently. 

 

Maria blinks back into focus. “Hunter.” 

  
Her lips twitch. “And you claim  _ I’m  _ the sucker for romance novels.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how to make bloodborne sappy: make both main gals prone to daydreaming and Very Gay for one another 
> 
> how to make bloodborne sad(der): their daydreams arent within the realm of possibility bc this timeline is Hell 
> 
> :3cccccccc


	4. Chapter 4

Maria knew that the Hunter wasn’t _completely_ unaffected by the blood and eldritch knowledge no doubt thrumming through their veins, but it's still a surprise when she rounds on Maria, demanding excitedly, “Do you hear it?”

She strains to hear anything over the sloshing footsteps and the snail women of the cave they’re now deep into. “Hear what?”

“The _winter lanturn._ She’s singing!” She smiles, glancing down the cave system. There’s no lantern in sight, and Maria can only _just_ hear the song, if she strains over the sloshing noises of their footsteps.

The Hunter can, apparently, hear the song much better than she can, and Maria knows what that _means_ , knows that the more you know the easier it gets to learn more, and how dangerous that is, but then Hunter sheathes her sword and reaches for her, giggling, “Dance with me.”

“She could be coming down the corridor at any moment.” Maria responds. She has only seen Winter Lanterns a handful of times herself, and most of them ended in a frenzy and a trip back to the Dream. They’re terrifying, to say the least.

“ _Maria_.” The Hunter says, purrs more like. She takes Maria’s hands and spins lazily, the splashing water echoing around them.

Maria turns with her, noticing somewhat distractedly that her dancing is much more graceful than her curtsies. She’s careful too, taking care to not splash more than necessary. Maria wonders if she considers the water “icky”.

She wonders a great many things about the Hunter.

Maria lets her lead, concentrating more on the way her face scrunches up when she missteps, and how her hair is falling out of its updo. Her hat keeps it mostly contained, but a few strands have escaped, the loose curls framing her face prettily. Maria knew nobles who would kill for their hair to behave so nicely in the middle of a Hunt.

Speaking of...

“Who taught you?” Maria asks. At her confused frown, she specifies, “To dance. Who taught you to dance?”

“ _Oh_ , um. My friend, the one who… died.” Her voice warbles a bit, and her steps go a little off tempo, but she doesn’t give any other signs of discomfort. “Early in the Hunt, I was more hopeful. Thought after it was done I’d have to know things like that.”

“Are you no longer hopeful?” Maria spins in place, guiding the Hunter’s hands through the motion. She catches on quickly, the next spin requiring no guidance.

“I know I’ll live. I just don’t know if there will be anyone else.” She says it so assuredly, convinced she will survive. “I…” She hesitates. “I realize our being partners is to end the nightmare, and that you are _long_ dead, but… if it were an option, I wish you could. You know.”

Maria does know, but hearing it out loud is not something she can pass up. “If I could?” She asks, smiling.

The Hunter’s cheeks feel unbearably hot, and she distantly realizes that the Winter Lantern is no longer in earshot. They really should be making progress, not dancing without a tune in a _cave,_ of all places.

 But Maria’s cold hands entwined with hers are enough to give her motive to stay and say, as quiet as she dares, “If you could stay with me. Even without the Hunt, or the Nightmare, I think… we’d make good partners. 

(She has half formed ideas of a future, of things couples do together, but they’re fuzzy around the edges. Things like romance are from _before_ the Hunt, the Hunter. But she likes how Maria’s hands feel in hers, and her smile. Those are simple.)

And Maria smiles so easily when she says mushy things like that. “Partners.” The Old Hunter repeats, squeezing her hands.

“Yeah.” The Hunter bites down on her bottom lip, hard enough that its flushed red when she lets go. Maria briefly wonders if she’s even capable of that or blushing at this point. There could be some kind of makeup in the lower levels of the Nightmare, and Maria can only imagine how the Hunter would look all dolled up, mouth shiny and tempting.

That same mouth pulls into a grin, the Hunter giggling. “Uh, Maria?”

She knows and Maria knows, but the lady plays it off anyway, “Hm?”

“ _Hmmm._ ” The Hunter mocks. “What _are_ you thinking about?”

“Just now? Makeup.” She answers plainly.

Brown eyes narrow. “Uh-huh. Well. On that note. I’m going to go find that Winter Lantern, and probably die? We will see.” She says, finally pulling away.

Maria winces despite knowing she’s clearly joking about dying. “You are truly fearless.”

“I killed an amygdala in a cursed chalice dungeon.” She says flippantly. “It took me… days? Hours?”

Maria almost asks what a first time Hunter is doing with a holy chalice, but then remembers that there’s no one around to supervise anymore. For someone used to the strict rules of church Hunters, it's… difficult to imagine. “Time is strange during a Hunt, and in the labyrinths.”  

The Hunter hums thoughtfully. She reaches backwards after a moment, hand flat. “Wait here, please? As fearless as I am, I can recover from a frenzy. 

“A frenzy.” Maria repeats. An odd way to word it, but rather par for course with the Hunter. “I… would prefer to accompany you, but I will stay back if we encounter the Winter Lanturn.”

She nods, a quick, jerky movement. “Stay behind me. I’ll keep you safe.”

( _Oh._ )

 The Hunter continues on, leading the way through the winding cave system.

Maria follows. And wonders if “time is strange” explains the affection in her chest, how it constricts around her heart. She thinks, if it were given more time, this could be lo--

The Hunter makes a noise between a squawk and gasp, bringing Maria back to the present ( _getting lost in thought? during a Hunt_ ? Shameful, dangerous). The Winter Lantern stands perfectly still, less than four yards from them. Maria can’t quite look it in the eye(s) for more than a second, her vision swimming. It has been _quite_ a while. As much as she hates to be useless, allowing the Hunter to take the lead makes sense.

The Lantern and Hunter jump into action at the same time, one with a ear splitting screech and the other silent as can be. The Hunter allows it to get _much_ too close for comfort before dodging out of the way and bringing her hammer down. The first hit stuns it, allowing the Hunter to charge her second attack. It sends the Lanturn sprawling, and as any hunter worth their salt would do, she switches to her faster sword and finishes it. 

There is something _terrifying_ in how quickly she kills the Winter Lanturn, but Maria cannot say what it is. The look in her eyes? The brutal and efficient closer? How it might not be fearlessness, but a lack of self preservation?

But then she spins around, a bright smile on her face despite her ragged breathing. “How was _that?_ ” She asks, brushing off her cape with a flourish.  

And Maria smiles in return, “Quite impressive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author brain: write the ending weve had planned for months  
> lesbian brain: write a minichap with slow dancing and More Pining Please

**Author's Note:**

> flower names?? in My fics??? 
> 
> (brugmansia is commonly reffered to as Angel's Trumpets and its wonderfully toxic and according to Cristina Pratt "induces a powerful trance with violent and unpleasant effects, sickening after effects, and at times temporary insanity" which sounds p on brand to me. it can be used for medicinal purposes also and its pretty) 
> 
> anyways Lady Maria is peak sword lesbian rep and she deserves better


End file.
